


cheap

by SinSmith



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cunnilingus, Drowning, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mild Blood, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Oral Sex, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Coercion, Spoilers, Underage Rape/Non-con, Underage Sex, Waterboarding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 03:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14728692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinSmith/pseuds/SinSmith
Summary: The Snake Charmer does no favors without a price. And she'll take it, one way or the other.Spoilers for S2.





	cheap

**Author's Note:**

> Please be conscious this includes strong spoilers for the ending of Season 2.
> 
> The scene pictured here involves explicit rape of a minor and discussion of pedophilia.
> 
> There may, at some point, be a second chapter. If you have ideas, leave them in the notes.

“I told you that you’d make it up to me someday, didn’t I?”

“What, going to have your Ghoulies finish me off, Penny? Scared to get your hands dirty?” He’s all bluster, behind a split lip and black eye. 

“Oh, Jughead. FP really didn’t tell you anything about me, did he?” Penny Peabody walks over, all vicious and danger, drug addled expression terribly clear. The clack of heeled boots on the floor and the plume of smoke in the air from the cigarette curled in her fingers. She makes a slow circle around him, the snake charmer, and he rattles the chains around his wrists and ankles, making the chair shake. 

“There’s more than one way to break somebody, Jughead. The Serpents think it’s all black eyes and busted lips…” Her fingers curl around his chin, and she relishes the way his face twists in revulsion. That hand burrows upward, catching his full bottom lip and squeezing, hard, until the split lip reopens and red blood trickles down her knuckles; the boy’s face contorts in pain, but he doesn’t scream. Even as his eyes water. “But nobody ever accused me of being conventional, Juggy. And really… your father knew better.” Coarse fingers release his chin, music pulsing from some speaker behind her, blurry and distant in the dark and smoke. 

Jughead is still coming up with ways to break free, brain at lightning speed as he thinks how he’ll spin this one, how he’ll get loose, when her heeled boot presses into the chair between his spread thighs. She doesn’t quite touch his jeans, but it makes his breath catch, green eyes flashing up to her face. Jarred from his planning.

“He knows what happens to pretty Serpent boys when they end up in the Snake Charmer’s grasp. Beats what’ll happen to you in prison, anyway.” She smirks; and Jughead tries to process that. Torture, he can handle; hell, what was the gauntlet for anyway? 

“Do your worst, Peabody.”

“Ah ah ah. This is part of your martyrdom, Jughead Jones. We’re going to kill you… but if you don’t give yourself over, let me take everything from you… well. We won’t honor your little agreement with Hiram.”

The boy scowls, averting his eyes. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t give her the satisfaction, but she watches some of the rage sink out of him. Good. It’s just what she wants… to break him down. The woman is sheer venom, sheer snake (how could he have ever thought her anything but a Serpent?) as she walks over to the counter and grabs a bottle, drinking. Just to make him watch. Then she forces the bottle on him as well. “Drink. You’re gonna need it, kid.”

There’s no recognition there, his brows furrowing in gorgeous uncertainty; he resists at first, but she forces the metal past his busted lip and he eventually gives in. She pours fast, so fast he can’t keep up, drinking as the whiskey burns his throat. Cheap and dirty. Like her. Like everything she touches. Jughead chokes on the brown liquor, and it spills over his chin, burning where it touches red skin; leaving his jaw and throat sticky, seeping into the tattered remains of his white undershirt. Penny doesn’t care, keeps pouring as he chokes; then grabs his neck, forcing his head back, her knee crushed into his hip. She’s above him, touching him, in his lap, and she’s drowning him. His throat is spasming, sputtering as he tries to keep drinking but it fucking burns, half of it spilling over his chin; he can’t move, he starts to struggle but it’s not enough, bruising his wrists as he tries to get free. 

He feels tears in his eyes and his vision starts to blacken, thrashing as the fear sets in; this crazy bitch is going to drown him. He tries to breath and whiskey catches in his nose and it burns; it burns so badly he can’t see, he can’t think, he needs air, his lungs are convulsing as he begins to gasp down liquor- 

Then she pulls back, leaving him to gasp and sputter and dry heave. “You get sick and I’ll do it again.” The boy takes huge, rattling, gasping breaths as he hunches over as far as his restraints will let him; there’s a little whimpering noise, and it makes Penny pause. She smirks again, perching on a bar stool and just watching him. “God. You suffer so pretty.”

“Wh-what?”

“I want to fucking ruin you, Jughead Jones.” She throws back more whiskey, a fresh bottle. He’s never known her to be much of a drinker, and something twists inside him, warning him. ‘Is she celebrating, or psyching herself up?’ He glances at his feet and realizes the only reason she stopped is because she emptied that bottle. It makes his head spin, makes him queasy; he’s swallowed half a handle, he has maybe ten minutes before he’s barely coherent. He knows because he’s FP’s son, and he’s seen his fair share of black out drunks. He’s scheming again by the time she walks back to him and trails her fingers down his chest. 

Her touch feels wrong; like roaches, like doctor’s gloves, like listening to Archie and Veronica through a thin plaster wall, like watching porn with Jellybean in the next bed over. It’s too damn slow, she /lingers/; her hands trace over his ribs and press into the bruises to make him hiss, but then ghost over the lines of his muscle. The boyish swell of his stomach, still /soft/ whereas so many of the others are so hard, coarse, gritty. 

There’s something dark in her eyes, and Jughead tries so hard not to be afraid, but he shudders as she tugs the flannel free from his hips, yanking it off. She uses the fabric to daub off the liquor on his face, his throat, and it’s even more violating somehow; this guise of caring for him. “I wanted to trust you, Penny. You’ve never deserved to be a Serpent. But now… go to hell.”

“You get mouthy when you’re scared. Your dad was like that too. As a kid.” He feels his head starting to swim; the alcohol seeping into his bloodstream like clockwork. “I’m going to find a better use for that mouth, huh? Consider it a last meal.” Penny cackles at her own joke, blank eyes alight with a sick mirth, throwing back another drink before dropping the bottle, letting it shatter. Jughead nearly jumps out of his skin, corner of his mouth twitching, his breath coming fast. 

“Figured out what we’re doing here yet, Juggy?” She snickers while she stretches her toned arms over her head, her gaze fixed on his. Their eyes meet for a long moment, Jughead’s breath more trembling by the moment. “.... yes.” Slowly, the woman slinks over, sitting in his lap again, draping his arms around his shoulders; he feels the weight of her crush the chains into his wrists, his thighs, but honestly the pain is a welcome distraction from the buzzing and nausea. “I want to hear you say it. What am I going to do to you? My pound of flesh…”

“You’re going to assault me. It’s pedophilia, Penny, I’m sixteen.” 

“You think I care? I’m going to own you, kid. And you know what’s worse? By the end, you’re going to be begging me for it. Come on. What should I do first, huh?” 

He sets his jaw and stares off into the middle distance because shit if he doesn’t know how to react, but it feels like the right thing. He can’t quite process the horror of it; he feels like he should be shocked, terrified, sick. But instead he just feels distant. Numb. 

“I asked you to pick what I do first. You don’t give me an answer, and I break out the whiskey again… your pride really worth that?” 

“Fuck you.”

“That where you want me to start?”

He makes a little groan of distress, rolling his eyes. It’s helpless, this situation is helpless. “You already decided what you’re going to do, you Nabokov nightmare. You want me to eat you out.”

“Your dad always told me you were smart.” God, she doesn’t even have the shame to deny it, unhooking him from the chair and forcing him to his knees. The room spins. 

And just like that, she’s unhooking her belt; she slides it around his neck and pulls taut, making a makeshift collar. He doesn’t have time to feel shock or fear, just the sick twist deep in his stomach. The older woman slides up her denim skirt, not bothering to undress fully; she’s wearing black panties and he looks away, but it’s not enough. 

It’s so fast and perfunctory, like she’s climbing onto a motorcycle rather than throwing a leg over his shoulder and mounting his face. Suddenly he’s buried between her thighs, the swell of her behind black panties; she tugs them roughly to the side without pretense or shame. It’s so different from anything he’s ever known; no show, no teasing, no art. Cheap. He whimpers a word and it’s almost /please/, bound as he is with his arms behind his back. 

It doesn’t stop her. “Come on, Jughead.” She’s inevitable. Inevitable and horrible. At least this will be over soon. And they’ll kill him before the shame can do it. “Make it worth my while and I might not use that pretty cock of yours, huh?” Her tone is cloying, and he opens his mouth just to shut her up, pushing his face into the slick valley between her legs. 

His brain short circuits; it’s nothing like when he’s been with Betty. She smells different; he’s not lost in the fog of arousal, but he’s nauseous and his stomach is churning and he feels sick, sick, sick, way down in his core. His bones ache, and he’s painfully aware of each curve and line of her. Luckily, she spares him any further decision making by grabbing a fistful of his dark curls and grinding her cunt down against his face. He feels spasms in his chest, but he suffers through it, sticking his tongue out, offering it for her abuse. She’s old enough to be his mother. It’s wrong, he hates her, so full of loathing he feels like his ribs will burst. But they don’t. And his shame, turning his cheeks a fiery pink, doesn’t kill him.

As much as he wishes he could command his heart to stop. 

Penny looms over him and grinds down against his parted lips and slick tongue, filthy commands falling from her lips. “Get in there… use your tongue, Jug, or this’ll be worse for you.” It’s a hollow threat, he thinks as he struggles to breathe around the flesh pressed against his mouth and nose. There’s a thick aroma, overwhelming and all around him; his tongue on her, he feels the slick slide from opening to clit, tastes her arousal. It mixes with whiskey in his mouth, and threatens to make him gag. 

But he doesn’t, can’t, because there’s no escape from this. This is his punishment. She’ll take what she wants from him and leave him filthy afterwards; filthy and hollow. 

It’s minutes that last an eternity; through the cramp in his neck, the vicious way she tugs at his hair, his numb jaw. But he feels her enjoying it, the litany of curses growing louder, and he chases that despite himself; wanting to get this over with. Sweetly bruised boyish lips close over her clit, and she’s fixated on the sight of him beneath her. “Finally got you in your damn place, Jughead Jones. Fuck you. I always, always, get what I want. One way or another- fuck!” 

She’s grinding against him, and his face is slick with her juices, on his cheeks and his eyelashes, heart pounding in his ears. The alcohol makes his head spin. His whole world closes in on this moment, rubbing his tongue through the folds of her cunt, tasting her and creating a rhythm against her clit; it’s messy and awful but it’s not about art, he realizes. For Penny Peabody? It’s not about sex at all. It’s about power. 

And so, forcing her mortal enemy to go down on her, she managed to steal this from him; this boyhood innocence. The sweetness and naivety he’d managed to find with Betty. 

And with that delicious thought on her mind, grinding her cunt down against his face as his eager tongue presses a pattern against her clit, she feels heat pooling in her stomach. “I warned you…. I’m going to take fucking everything from you…” The blonde tosses her head back, letting her heel dig into his back as she grinds against him, not giving a single fuck if she damages the soon-to-be-dead Serpent prince. Jughead whimpers and it is a tragic, broken little noise as she feels him shudder beneath her; and that’s all it takes. His mouth drives her to the peak, a slow dreadful building, using this teenager who thought he could stop her; it’s hot, incredibly hot, and then she’s coming onto his face with a visceral cry. She keeps riding him until she’s satisfied, and Jughead doesn’t even try to resist, lapping at the slick she drips onto his waiting mouth. 

Penny chuckles, the cruel line of her mouth twisting upwards. “That’s enough, kid.” And steps off of him just as easily as she swung on; like hopping down from her bike. 

His face, that pretty face? Is absolutely ruined. He’s covered with her slick, with the remnants of whiskey. His split lip is bleeding fiercely, his bruised eye swollen nearly shut and his black hair a matted mess. But that’s not her favorite part. Her favorite part is his green eyes; vacant, broken, completely helpless. “Mm… good boy.” She pats his sticky cheek and then pushes him, hard. He falls over onto his side, hitting the ground with a sickening crunch, and then doesn’t move as the ground tilts out from under him. 

“But I’m not done with you yet.”


End file.
